The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine

Two Poems

As Time Passes
Thanks to All

***

As Time Passes

I hope you believed me when I said
Life is more intrusive
causes far more strife then the illness
Illness is an event
like the sunrise
or to the more macabre
or fatalistic
the glass half empty guys
a sunset

It comes when it comes
like the tides
We could argue
you and I
about the self inflicted things
the definition of disease
the uncaused cause and the fatal car accident
It won't change a thing for victim

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***

Thanks to All

Thinking of writing what I was thinking of writing,
compiling the notes,
painting the picture,
I found I was fighting,
in a struggle to release the demons,
and triumphant,
gallop homeward with the prize.
Attempting to confront the truth,
to sketch each hill and berm
imagine the surprise
of finding canvas burned
and note pad water soaked.
My steed had balked,
deciding to stay home.

Pressure or depression?
After all,
I ‘m ill,
though not in a terrible way,
not like the sure footed step of MS
or some other inexorable slow march of doom disease,
simply a third bout with cancer.
(which they manage to manage with a wondrous ease and frequency today)
Still able, if not capable of setting my own time table for life
however I may manage to mismanage it.
Life is so much more intrusive,
causing far more strife than any illness.

So,

why the handcuffs,
the mental block,
the weight,
the hesititant inability to chronicle?

Waiting neared the threshold several times,
failed to cross, to enter creativity’s studio
and while I waited,
waiting plain out waited me.
Waiting for the tests,
pathology,
the surgery,
again,
pathology,
then consultations.
Putting everything on hold,
philosophy reduced to wait and see.

Wait for questions to be answered,
blanks filled in,
illumination to flood the room.
Foolish.

Foolish to be stuck,
to wallow,
never reach the starting line;
to let the clouds obscure the moon.
I remember remembering to breathe,
relax,
listen;
and in between those breaths,
those conscious efforts at life,
of trying to not be afraid
or think the worst,
of death
or worrying about unchanging facts,
I remember something touching at the heart of me.
Ashamed at pausing for so brief a time
I thought of others.

There’s the start!

Thought of those around me, surrounding me,
sending prayers, hugs, white light
caring for me.

Not like remembering to pack deodorant,
to water the plants,
to check and see if there were lights left on.
Friend,
forgive poor simile,
draw no conclusions, don’t bog down in analogy
regarding you or me
but,
more like remembering the dog.
Not was he fed, watered, cared for,
but who was loving him,
would comfort him,
assure him in dog speak
I would be returning soon.
Explaining, while scratching the poor dear behind an ear,
that I was only briefly delayed,
unavoidable really,
thinking often of our soon to be walks in the park.
Like that you see.

Oh,
I clearly listed people wishing to be called,
informed,
updated.
I thought of them as I’d compile the names, make the calls,
send e-mails,
re-write the will,
complete the standard stuff one does while waiting.
(I’m way passed teary-eyed you know)
But,
the ones who nurture
those who care,
the ones who love me,
shine in the night.
They’d help a stranger change a tire in rain.
Share their soul without reward
and hope full,
rise each day to gift again,
what small comfort have I neglected in my need
to offer them?

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Published: March 17, 2007